Haunted
by Just Milla
Summary: One-shot. They were always there, lurking in the shadows; waiting for their chance to haunt him again. Royai


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.

**A/N**: Just a short, weird thing I had on my mind. I believe the rating is fair enough, but let me know if you think otherwise; will you? ;) Also, sorry if it's not very good; this is one of my first fics… If you think that there is anything I could do to improve, I would be glad if you let me know. Just please don't be harsh, I'm PMSing and, therefore, very sensible at the moment! XD

Oh, one more thing: sorry for any bad grammar, English is not my first language…

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It's a woman, this time. She's convulsing on the floor, screaming as the literally hot agony takes over her body. She's missing her left leg and a chunk of flesh on her right ribs, exposing bones and… other unidentifiable things; very probably as a consequence of the previous explosion. The flames are consuming her, melting, twisting and furrowing her tanned skin; perverting her once beautiful features. She's looking straight at him with those characteristic red eyes, an arm outstretched in his direction; begging, pleading for him to help her, to have mercy. However, he doesn't even move, just keep looking at her with those empty, hollow eyes. He doesn't move because it's pointless, it's too late. He had his chance to save her years ago, when she actually died.

When he actually killed her.

It doesn't follow a pattern or a schedule. It's not a phase and, as the years went by, it became clear that it wasn't temporary. Sometimes, it happens up to 7 days straight; sometimes, it goes a whole month without occurrences. However, it's always there, lurking in the shadows of his mind, staining his nights with terror –not even the ones that turned out to be uneventful were spared: there was always the gut-wrenching anticipation, the wondering –_will it happen today? Tomorrow? Now? _He could never tell. But, after such a long time dealing with them, one might say that Roy Mustang has gotten used to these... _visions_; has become indifferent –but he didn't.

It's like torture. Every time it happens, even in the briefest ones, he would be left shaken and uneasy. They sicken him, sometimes to the point of making him throw up. They make his blood rush freezing cold, his insides turn upside down and his throat constrict painfully. They make his hands tremble, his knees go weak and his mind bring back his most frightening memories, forcing him to relive the worst days of his life. They make him edge insanity.

He's not sure of what exactly _they_ are. Are they actual ghosts? Dead people he killed that come back from the afterlife to haunt their murderer? Or are they memories, the so-called flashbacks? Tricks his troubled (and probably insane, he fears) mind plays on him, forcing him to see old memories as if they were fresh new? Whatever it is, though, it doesn't really matter. What_ does_ matter is that, memories or spirits, they were once real. And that's the worst part of it.

If they were just dreams, hallucinations, he could deal with them. Of course, he would probably have to take some heavy medicines to stop them, but at least he could give himself the luxury of saying they were just his imaginations, nothing more. Unfortunately, that's not the case. Once upon a time, those scenes did happen. He_ did_ burn all those people alive, the woman in front of his eyes included. He knows this because he actually remembers them; every face he melted, every person he toasted.

Every Ishbalan he killed.

Even now, sitting in his bed in the dead of the night, he can still feel the hot desert sun on his skin, can smell the sick scent of rotten and burnt corpses and can hear those ear-piercing shrieks as he stares at his long dead victim in the corner of the room. It makes him wonder just how crazy he is: after all this time, he still can't get over all that crap. He guesses they are his punishment, those ghosts. The way life found to make him pay for his sins. They come to torture him, so he can feel the pain and suffering he put them through bit by bit, every night. However, if this is true, how many nights will it take for him to pay for all the shit he's done? What if this never ends? What if these ghosts never leave him alone? What if they continue to haunt his nights and shadowy days forever?

"...Roy?"

He jumps, startled, and roughly turns to face the source of the voice on the other side of the bed. And then he sees her, lying on her side and leaning on her elbow. It's almost surreal, the sight; her slender form barely covered by the sheets, the moonlight glowing on her skin. She's looking at him, a mix of concern and puzzling on her garnet-red eyes as she notices his panted breath and haunted expression. She moves to sit next to him, lightly placing an arm around his shoulders. "Are you alright?"

He has to admit: sometimes, these ghosts get the best of him. Sometimes, they make the apparently unbreakable Roy Mustang self-confidence shatter into a million pieces. They make him question his own strength; make him wonder just what kind of sick hypocrite he is, playing the good guy after everything he did. They make him realize that they are the living (or not) proof that, no matter what you do or who you become in the future, nothing –_nothing_ can erase what you did in the past; nothing can change who you really are. Once a murderer, always a murderer; once a monster, always a monster; isn't that right? And if he can't even change himself, how can he expect to change a whole country? Sometimes, these ghosts make him believe that he's living a lie and fighting for a lost cause. Sometimes, they make him just want to give up.

But then he sees her, looking at him with all that faith and hope in her eyes, and everything changes. She has never once doubted him, never once left his side; even though she knows more about him than anyone else in this world. She's the one that shows him that it doesn't matter what he did or who he was yesterday, what matters is how he's making use of his today. She believes in him, and that's all the encouragement he needs to go on. She's the one that eases his mind, that sooths his soul; the one who makes the weight of the guilt on his shoulders lighter, who has the answer for all his questions, who makes him forget about all his problems.

All it takes is for him to look at her and, suddenly, everything else is gone. There's no more desert, no more corpses, no more fire.

No more ghosts.

She makes everything alright again.

"Yes", he says softly, smiling, "Of course I am". She eyes him, as if contemplating his answer.

"Okay, then", she shrugs. "Now, enough with all this tossing and turning and just go back to sleep; will you, Colonel?" She mock-scolds him as she wraps her arms around his waist, pulling him with her as she lies down.

He chuckles, letting her do as she pleases. "Yeah, yeah, Lieutenant, sure." She turns on her side, her back to him, and places one of his arms around her, so he's hugging her from behind.

Maybe he is sentenced to these unwanted visits forever. Maybe this is actually a low price to pay for his sins. Maybe those ghosts will never really leave him alone. But, then again, neither will Riza Hawkeye. When the ghosts come, he knows she'll be there to shoo them away; to push him forward when he stops moving, to put him back on the tracks when he gets lost. As long as she's with him, he knows nothing can stop him; nothing can ever make him give up. As long as she's standing beside him, he can take down anything or anyone who stands in his way.

As long as he has her, he feels as if he could take over the whole goddamn world. He gives a tiny, silent chuckle as he buries his face on the side of the neck, closing his eyes.

It doesn't take long before he's asleep; for good, this time.

"You won't get him."

She, however, is wide awake.

"I won't let you."

He probably thinks she doesn't know about it; can't see it, perhaps.

Little does he know that nothing can escape the Hawk's Eyes.

As she strokes his arm in a slow, protective –almost disturbing rhythm, her eyes are firmly fixed at the shadowed corner of the wall, not even blinking.

_It _is there, looking at her through the shadows. It seems her ominous glare is keeping it away for now, but she knows it is just waiting. Waiting for her to fall asleep, turn her back or let her guard down, even if just for a second. Waiting, for it's chance to go back to torment him. She knows that, as much as she wishes, she won't be able to be with him every night. She knows she can't stay by his side exactly 24 hours a day. Sooner or later, they will come back to haunt him, maybe tomorrow, maybe next week.

But not tonight.

She will make sure of that.

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**A/N: **...creepy. Anyway, what do you think? A review would be very, very kind, you know? :3


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